


Almost Honest

by Soobiebear



Category: Megadeth, Metallica
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soobiebear/pseuds/Soobiebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Trin back in 2010.  If I only knew then what I know now...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Honest

Dave was aware, in the back of his mind, that he might have let things get a little out of hand. He had plenty of time to think about it this morning, as he was having his hair cut and straightened by a hack in one airport, and later in the afternoon waiting at another airport and stuck in various taxi's. It hadn't so much been the lack of planning or suddenness of it all as it was the careful over planning. Every little detail was worked out in his mind, from the PR leading up to the event to how he would lean across the bar _just so_...

Dave flexed his fingers in his lap, the bone crunching grip on his cell phone only making him more agitated. Looking out over street after street of miserable little houses hidden behind their concrete barriers made him smile. He was better than this, deserved better, shouldn't be in such a horrible place as Cleveland for something this important. The fact that Dave had to come here chasing him only added to the thrill of it all.

One took the chances given to them.

_"I cared a lot about James; I really liked him. I still like him. I don't like Lars, but I like James."_

The hotel room was small and sterile with a view straight into another skyscraper across the road. It made things seem seedier; the worst room in this expensive hotel. It was nothing like what he had fantasized about in his mind. He longed for what they used to have, the twin beds both worn to pieces and full of stains, the bad neighbourhoods and loud noises that would keep them awake nights on end. But this wasn't New York and it wasn't 1982 anymore, some concessions had to be made.

Sliding the mobile phone on the polished oak table, Dave sat on the bed and stared out the window. He didn't dare venture out yet, the risk of being seen was too great. His disguise helped, but people would be on the look out tonight. He'd declined and denied of course, keeping his little secret and wishing of how it would happen. On tour, Ken had noticed something was off immediately, Dave's normal sardonic and biting personality much quieter and turned in on himself. Ken had, of course, told the rest of his band who each tried to fix Dave and sort out his problem. They never guessed, although he did see the humour in Glen's attempts at getting him to drink again. Fucker.

Dave went over his plan again in his mind; get into the party, hang out at the back, wait until the time was right and then corner him in the mens bathroom. He'd convince him to come back to his hotel room to hang out like the old days and talk about some shit, they really hadn't spoken since his fortieth birthday when his flight got canceled.

'And look how that turned out,' said a little voice inside his head. He quickly squashed the voice. There was a lot going on back then and even if things had turned out a little less than ideal they both lived through it and he was ready to try again.

_"I guess Lars never really looked past the word 'Ulrich'."_

Since his divorce, Dave had come to terms with his part in the bad blood. His priest had been really cool about it, helping him sort his life out and giving him another perspective on things. No one had ever really reached out to him like that before and Dave took his teachings to heart, unfortunately it had been too late to save his marriage. Before he started sessions with his priest he had been angry and bitter, the hate had built up inside him for so long that it had become a part of him. It burned through everything that he was and damaged everything that he did. None of it mattered but the damp New York morning and that yellowed Greyhound ticket and those green eyes hard as marble staring up at him. They stood a little too close, shoulders touching as they told him he was fired. The words barely registered over his tinnitic hangover, but the look shared as they bolstered each other to deliver the death blow had said it all.

He was out.

Out of the band, out of their lives, and out of his bed. Just like that. His replacement would be here tomorrow.

Twenty five years later they were still wondering why he was so bitter about it.

Dave turned on the tv to pass the time. It was only six o'clock, and he wouldn't want to get to the restaurant much before ten or eleven. Let people get some drinks in them and let the lights dim before he tried to sneak in. He just hadn't counted on the wait being so fucking long. For this he could be patient, he reminded himself. For this he could wait.

An insipid Nicholas Cage movie passed a few hours, but Dave soon found his feet moving of their own volition. He climbed stairs until he couldn't climb anymore and the crowds thinned out. The hotel was inside a large shopping mall, and he leaned his elbows on the railing and looked down the stories to everyone rushing around and the shops across the mall. The Science Shop directly opposite where he stopped a few levels down drew his attention as he saw a tall bearded figure and a blonde walk out, three kids in tow. It was just far enough away so he couldn't really see, but he knew who it was. And if he was here, then...

Dave shook himself. It was silly really, they were all adults now, had families and other commitments. The band wasn't your family as it had once been. He was probably having a wonderful dinner, with his perfect wife and smiling boys, bragging about how tomorrow was so special and wasn't it awesome that they were all there to see it. He walked again on this floor, his sneakers squeaking on the much less used marble. He passed a radio station half way around and peered inside, the dj sitting at his booth oblivious to the passers-by. He butted his head against the glass in irony when he saw the Clear Channel sign, leaving a nice greasy forehead print and waking the dj out of his stupor. Quickly fleeing down the tiles before being recognized, he turned when he realized it didn't have the view of the river that the other end of the building had.

Completing the loop, Dave found a table and chairs out of the way in a corner, perfect for sitting and watching the gray and industrial waste. The sun had started setting and it drew long shadows out of the Rust Belt mess that made up most of the dirty city. In any other place it wouldn't have been a view one would showcase.

A few people wandered by, most holding trays from the food court below. Upon seeing emptiness they all skittered back down to lower levels. Dave leaned his head against the concrete wall and let his mind drift, passing the time until he could set things into motion. It was so simple, really...

_"If you watch the movie closely, you see that Lars treats everyone so badly. They all end up in therapy! Even the counselor ended up in therapy!"_

When Dave woke, the sun had gone down and night had taken over. The mall had closed and although his little corner had been quiet before, now it was eerie. Turning his phone on to check the time, Dave stretched his neck and worked out a kink in his left arm. Ten thirty. Fuck, of all the times to fall asleep, it would have to be tonight. He turned his phone off again and slid it into his pocket, vainly trying to brush out the wrinkles from his jeans and shirt. His hair had started to curl at the ends and he pulled at it, combing the new short length with his fingers.

He looked disdainfully down at himself, the stubborn wrinkles refusing to leave. It was too late to run back into the hotel and change, even though it was only a few minutes away. His chest felt tight as the reality sunk home: Tonight was it; all of his plans were to be set in motion.

Tonight he would get Lars back.

_"Then Lars goes online and says he doesn't understand why I'm so pissed off. You didn't listen to me! Then when he catches wind that I'm getting sick of his crap he says, 'Aww, I just want to hug Dave. I'm sexually attracted to him.' What the hell happened to you?"_

"Brian Lew." With his best New Jersey accent in place, Dave yelled at the insipid twat holding the clipboard. Of course he was probably on the list, despite his rather public decline. The security guards would talk and before he knew it he would be found. Tonight was going to be tricky at best; hiding from people he used to know. Worse was the ones who were looking for him. Lars' closest journalist 'buddies', who despite Lars' blindness to it wouldn't have a single thing to do with any of them if they weren't in a successful band.

Skirting around the darkened edges of the restaurant, he found a nice secluded booth over in a less than used corner by the kitchen. Knowing it would be mostly staff coming and going, Dave faced the kitchen door, slumped low in the booth, and waited for the time to pass. He'd caught a vague glimpse of Jimmy Page over by one of the ice sculptures when he first got past security, it had been enough to get the anxiety going. After an hour or so he could pretend he'd simply overindulged and lean against the wall. Another drunk landing where he fell. In this camp, Dave doubted anyone would notice.

And notice they didn't. For three hours Dave sat in his booth, ignored by both partier and staff alike. Not one hostess had asked if he wanted a drink and not one soul had bothered to ask if he was alive. Some things never change, he reckoned. Occasionally, a familiar accent tickled his ears. Heavier accent and not quite right, more Dutch than Danish, but close enough to make his heart beat faster and pull his jacket tighter around himself. He heard McGovney addressing the crowd, at least that's who he thought it was, he wasn't about to turn around and see.

"Young metal attack, heh," Dave said to himself, probably the only less than happy person in the joint at the moment. These stupid speeches went on, his former friends remembering what a good time the old days had been. Dave wondered where they'd been. He'd been there and remembered being broke, things being stolen, fighting constantly, and trying to scrape their way anywhere. Well, Ron's money had been good at the time, but he seemingly left that part out of his teary-eyed speech.

Thankfully, Lars didn't make a speech; no one actually in the band got up and addressed the crowd for which Dave was relieved. He wasn't sure the natural cynic and heckler in him would be able to be kept in line if Lars started flapping his lips. But such soft lips they were, or had been twenty five years ago. Lost in memories and cocooned in his jacket in the dark and bored to tears by an utterly predictable Ray Dill story he didn't even notice himself slipping off into dreamland.

_However, I'd like to say to Lars (Ulrich) and James (Hetfield), I am so very proud of all you have accomplished. I will continue to pray for the very best for you and your families, as I always have._

He awoke with a start for the second time that day. The flight in from Germany and been turbulent and he'd gotten precious little sleep. He'd come right from a gig in Germany on an overnight flight and hadn't been able to turn off his brain in the hotel room earlier. The lack of sleep had gotten to him. Rolling his arm and trying to unlock his shoulder, Dave found himself in a much quieter restaurant. Slowly, he turned to peek over the seat back to view the thinned crowd. There were still small groups clustered here and there, drunk people wavering back and forth as they were escorted out. Panic set in, fuck it all, Lars'd gone home already and he's fucked it all up. Months wasted, God only knew when he'd find another time to get Lars cornered and alone and...

He hunched between the shoulders of his jacket, collar turned up, feet dragging him away from his hiding place. Charlie Benante was standing under a set of framed drumsticks, talking animatedly with someone Dave was sure he'd seen before, recently, but couldn't place the name. It was enough to send him for the cover of a mostly empty buffet table. The cheese was the only thing left that even looked edible, so he took a cube and popped it in his mouth.

"Why is everyone leaving me? Fleming, why are you doing this to me?" Instinctively, Dave turned towards the familiar voice. It was a joking tone, the smile slightly lop sided as he pushed at the taller bearded man. Flemming clapped him on the shoulder and waved to someone across the room before heading out into the empty mall. Dave turned to stare at the wall, some bizarre artwork looked back at him impassively. Leave it to Lars to be at the bar even as the party ended, slamming through the alcohol like a twenty year old. He listened as Lars chatted with the bartender a few minutes, the sound of glass sliding across wood oddly loud without the background noise. Dave slid down the wall to the next painting, not wanting to look like he was obviously out of place but just finally getting a chance to look at the artwork. Lars would dig that if he was found out. He was into art and shit.

"You stayin'?" Dave couldn't help but overhearing really, the deep voice would have cut through even the loudest crowd.

"Yeah, can't sleep. Gonna have a few more."

The painting he was looking at was truly horrible. Modern art, globs of colour all over the canvas with little rhyme or reason.

"K, see you tomorrow man."

A woman spoke up, with another accent. French this time. "Goodnight, Lars. Try to sleep."

"I will Chloe." There was a pause, but he didn't dare turn to look. "See you tomorrow."

Lars moved another few steps towards the restroom, starting to sweat it. Time was running out, the place was closing down. If Lars didn't have to use the bathroom, then...

Finally turning to watch Lars from around a corner hurt him like a punch to the gut. Lars, alone save the bartender who was mopping up, leaning against the bar and focused solely on his beer. The dark green shirt looked good on him, but it seemed a fleeting thought with the empty scene in front of him.

Eschewing three months of planning, Dave saddled up whatever cahonies he had and decided to join him at the bar. It was certainly classier than accosting him in the bathroom. Really, what had he been thinking? Attacking Lars at the urinal and expecting him to just go along with things? He was going to be a good Christian, talk to Lars logically and try to mend their broken relationship. Like it had ever done any good in the past, but once a fool always a fool. He fingered the small tablet in the pocket of his jacket. All he had to do was drop it in Lars' drink...

He stood far enough down the bar from Lars not to be tempted so quickly. "Tonic water and lime, please." No matter how drunk he was, Lars would recognize the voice. He knew it. He just didn't know how to handle it.

"Dave?"

Trying to act surprised, he tried to keep the falseness out of his voice. "Lars, hi." He almost stumbled over 'fancy meeting you here', but somehow he managed to catch his tongue.

"What are... why..." Lars looked him up and down like he couldn't believe Dave actually was there. "What happened to your hair?"

'What happened to yours?' Dave pushed that part of himself further down and tried to sit on it. "Oh, you know, got fried at the ends." Dave ran his fingers through the short length, just barely starting to curl at the ends. "Thanks," he said to the bartender as his drink arrived.

"I thought you said you weren't coming." Lars moved closer to him and Dave couldn't help but smile and shrug.

"Plans change. I'm just here for tonight. Can't stay."

Lars looked crestfallen, Dave thrummed with delight inside and tried not to show it. "I didn't see you around tonight. Ray Burton's here, McGovney, Jimmy Page, Joe Perry, Gross, it's been fucking great."

"Yeah, man, I loved the ice horns over there."

"Did you see the finger? I didn't know they could do that with ice."

They chatted for a little bit, Dave tapping down on his acid tongue and keeping Lars plied with beer, amazed at how much the guy could put away and still seem perfectly sober. Like always, Lars could run a one sided conversation like nobody's business, all Dave had to do was nod or interject a little here and there and Lars just kept going. It was worth it, just to hear the excitement and the strange way he still said his vowels.

Too soon the manager brought the lights up and started shooing people out claiming it was four AM. Lars managed to bum a six pack off the bartender. "Guess I'm off to my room."

"What, no after party? That's not like James."

Lars frowned slightly, the lines between his eyebrows becoming more pronounced as he looked at his shoes. "Yeah, well, he's different now, isn't he?"

Dave mumbled something, perhaps an apology or perhaps merely agreeing with the statement, he wasn't really sure. He did know when to lay his cards down though. If the odd little lilt of longing he heard in Lars' simple statement was anything to go by, he might be far luckier than he ever imagined. "Wanna go back to my room and hang out?"

Lars looked up sharply, measuring him. "Yeah, ok," he said, moving to grab his bag of beer. "You at the Ritz?"

"Nah, the Renaissance. The Ritz was booked."

They left the party together, two old mates getting reacquainted. Lars waving to everyone on the way out and talking to Connie on his mobile while they walked. Dave thought it was eerie with all the shops closed and the place empty. You could hear the trains below, at least Dave assumed they were trains. The moonlight glimmered off the white marble and granite, mixing with the unearthly glow of Lars' mobile.

Dave ran his hands through his own short hair again on the elevator ride up and he surreptitiously stared at a still chatting Lars. Slightly balding, slightly pudgy, slightly wrinkled; slightly just seemed to be the word to describe Lars these days. It used to be fey, wild, scared. Dave couldn't pin Lars down as easily as he used to. He imagined the scared little kid he used to know what still in there somewhere, hidden under years of... Years of what? Fighting and making up with James? Dragging other drugged out guitarists back to cheap hotel rooms and dirty busses? Pussing out on his music while the world changed around him? That was hardly fair either, not that being fair every concerned him.

"Jeg elsker dig. Drøm sødt." Lars closed his phone. "Sorry, had to tell Connie where I was going."

Dave hummed and kept his eyes focused on the red LED floor numbers.

"She's good to me, you know. Great girl."

Something had shifted between them, Dave felt the evening going off the tracks. _Like a bus skidding on icy pavement,_ he thought, wishing his brain would just shut itself off for once. "I'm... I'm happy for you."

They got off the lift and headed towards Dave's room, Dave suddenly doubting his plans and his tiny room. Lars needed scale, needed space to do his thing...

"How was it?"

Still stuck in his own thoughts, Dave hadn't really heard Lars speak. "Mmm, what?"

"What was it like, touring with Rob Halford?"

Dave fished his card from his wallet and shrugged, jiggling the little plastic key and popping the door open. "Didn't see that much of him, really."

"Oh," was all Lars mumbled with a disappointed air.

With a flip of a switch the room lights came on, illuminating the small space. It really wasn't bad as far as hotel rooms go, it just wasn't exactly grand. Dave did a quick check, making sure he hadn't left too much of a mess behind this afternoon and toed out of his shoes when he found the place in order. Lars shut the door behind them, the heavy handle catching with a loud clunk. Dave heard him fiddling with the door chain as he took his rather abused jacket off.

"There's a fridge if you wanna..." The paper bag of beer hit him in the brisket, briefly taking the wind from him and curling him around the beer slightly. Sharp fingers were suddenly digging at his scalp, warm wet lips covering his own like a lamprey. "What the fuck?"

_"If you see that METALLICA movie you can't walk away without thinking Lars is mental. I am over him. He's ancient history."_

Dave wiped the back of his hand across his lips and stared at Lars furiously. Lars glared back at him, head tilted down and eyes flashing murderously. "What the FUCK?" Dave roared, mindless of anyone in the surrounding rooms.

Lars' nostrils flared and he bared his teeth, looking to Dave every bit like a mad bull ready to charge it's target. Lars rushed him, crushing Dave against the wall and pushing the beer into his ribs. He ground himself roughly into Dave, rutting against his hip as he forced his tongue into Dave's mouth. Dave pushed at his shoulder, pushing the smaller man back only to have him run into him again. Hands gripped and pulled at his clothes, feverishly grabbing skin and clawing his way down Dave's long body.

The fight left Dave as the hot tongue licked a trail down his neck. Here was what he wanted, all but tied with a bow, why was he fighting it? He grabbed hard onto Lars' shoulder and pulled him closer, tilting his head back against the wall and letting Lars lick wide swaths over the sensitive skin.

Lars moaned and latched onto Dave's skin, sucking a bruise to life and nipping at the thin skin. The beer fell forgotten to the floor as he sighed, one hand grabbing onto Lars' belt as the other moved from his shoulder to snake around his neck. He learned down to capture Lars' lips, falling back into a dance put on a twenty year hiatus.

He tasted of beer and of spearmint gum, the slight lingering smell of AquaNet making him harden. He'd missed this, missed Lars' feel and taste and the way he used to use his tongue.... Oh yes, like that, rubbing against his own tongue like Lars did so well to his cock. Junior had never understood this, had never been as good at it, not even Pam had come close.

But he was pulling away, pulling his own shirt over his head. Dave managed to breathe, forgetting when he had stopped, his own hands lifting to help Lars pull the almost-black fabric off and toss it away. His own shirt quickly followed leaving him cold for a second before the delicious heat was back and Lars was rubbing against him. Clammy hands ran down his torso, pausing at the button of his jeans. Instead of sliding the button from its hole, the hands slipped down further, pressing against him. Dave's head hit the drywall again, sounds he had no control over coming from his mouth. Lars' skin was feverish where he could reach, the little extra padding on his older bones not as distasteful as Dave had once imagined.

Teeth closed around a nipple, biting slightly. The pain centered his swirling thoughts and made him buck into Lars' kneading hands. "Fuck," he groaned between clenched teeth and sank his nails into Lars' flesh. Fleeting kisses trailed over his belly and Dave looked down to see Lars kneeling _kneeling_ before him. The sight made him twitch as his hand wrapped around what was left of Lars' once magnificent hair. Lars was still fondling him through his jeans, mouth covering the hard flesh and blowing hot air through the already heated denim. Dave let go long enough to fumble with his zipper, Lars' no less steady hands tangling with his in the rush to remove clothing.

He felt his heart stutter when Lars finally took him in his mouth, that talented tongue reacquainting with all the spots it used to know. "Fuck, yeah, you were always so good at this." Dave closed his eyes and tried not to thrust into Lars' mouth. The pointed tongue worked over his shaft and Dave could feel his legs start to turn to rubber. Lars sucked hard and a scream caught in Dave's throat. Silk, hot wet silk, Lars' mouth, all around him, swallowing, rippling, sucking...

Dave looked down again at the uneven moans coming from his waist. It wasn't anything controlled, no deliberate hum, the noises were too deep and ragged. Lars had one hand down the front of his own pants, stroking his own cock as he sucked on Dave.

Thirty years ago, he would have been able to carry Lars to the bed, but settled for dragging him and Lars didn't seem to mind. He pushed Lars on the bed and climbed over him, no thought to knees or elbows as he nipped at the sweaty flesh of his old friend. Devouring kisses moved down Lars' chest, dipping in the hollows of collarbones and lapping at the fine beads of sweat on his breastbone.

When he finally let his eyes drop, Dave thought he would explode right there. Lars' hard cock was clearly outlined against the strained fabric, his hips tilted forward trying to grind against anything, more touch, more feeling.

Crouching over his body, Dave fumbled with the zip, managing to shove Lars' trousers down to mid-thigh as his eyes locked on Lars' purpling erection and his mouth started watering.

Lars didn't stop the harsh thrust as he pushed himself inside Dave's mouth. He gripped brutally at Lars' hips, pinning him to the bed as he wrapped his lips around Lars. He has fantasized of this for so long, Lars under him, thrashing on the bed, moaning his name.

"Suck me," Lars hissed, and Dave looked up at him. "Suck me harder." Lars had somehow pulled the pillow under his head and was avidly watching. Dave bobbed his head again, running his tongue along the bottom from base to head.

One hand let go from Lars' hip to lightly brush over Lars' balls.

"Sgu fanden!" Dave smiled around the hard cock in his mouth. Lars always liked having his balls played with, it looks like some things never changed. He ran a single finger around each globe, the thin skin prickling under his touch. "More," Lars spread his legs further. "God, so good, so long..."

Dave raised an eyebrow at Lars' slip. He held Lars' balls, rolling them in their sacks, trying to get Lars to go back to his native tongue.

"Oh god! God, fock, more, yes," he wailed, thighs trembling on either side of Dave's head. Dave slid his mouth off from Lars with a slurp, giving a little suckle to the tip before he left. Lars pushed his hips up again, bucking into the empty air. Dave smiled at Lars' distress, cock red and throbbing against his pelvis.

"What the, fock, where..." He screamed again as Dave's wet tongue flicked against his balls. "Focking shit, God, uungh!" He ran his tongue over the left side. "More," Lars breathed, and Dave treated the right side. "Fock!" Dave almost laughed at the way Lars was reduced to panting. "Again, lick me." Lars pushed his hips into Dave's face, the musky smell making his sinuses ache. Dave drew small circles with his tongue, enjoying the incoherent whimpers and moans it drew from the other man.

Shifting against the mattress, Dave quickly dragged his tongue down from Lars' balls and poked at the quivering ring of muscle. Lars' hands tightened in his hair and pulled, ripping out strands even as his fists pushed Dave's face into his ass.

"Fock me! Fock me!" he yowled like a cat in heat. Lars pulled at Dave's newly shorn hair again, the shorter lengths not giving him the grip he searched for. "Fucking fuck me," Lars tried pulling Dave up his body; Dave ignored the scratches and nail stabs and teasingly made his way back up the heaving torso.

Feverish eyes looked up at him when he finally leaned on Lars, the smaller man squirming and grabbing and mindlessly moving his hips. Dave snuck a hand between their bodies, wrapping his long fingers around both of their cocks and pulling.

"I'll fuck you on one condition," he nipped at Lars' jaw, catching his breath. "You have to say my name."

Lars sucked in shallow breaths below him, trembling, and remaining utterly silent. Dave narrowed his eyes and pushed up on his free hand to look down at Lars. To his surprise, Lars reached up and gently kissed him, lips caressing him instead of the mauling it had always been. "Fock me," Lars whispered as he broke the kiss.

Dave just shook his head. His anger flared again and he worked hard not to choke Lars or hit him or any of the other myriad of things he wanted to do. A leg hooked around his hip and pulled them together. "Say it."

A small hand landed on his bicep, the other one grabbing at his side. "Fock you," he spit out, twirling their legs together. Lars twisted his hips, letting Dave fall between his legs. Dave's cock brushed against his balls and Lars fought to contain the moan.

"You fucking want it, I know you do." Dave moved himself slowly, crushing Lars' cock between their bodies and rubbing his own cock against Lars' ass.

"Ikke gør mig, narrøv."

Dave leaned into Lars and got into his face. He didn't know what was said, but he could figure it out from the tone. "Asshole." He didn't expect the power struggle from Lars either, he'd changed more than he had expected over the years. Smirking, Dave ran his hands down Lars' arms. If he wanted to play these games, Dave could play too. He grabbed Lars' wrists, starting to pull his arms over his head when Lars flipped him.

It took Dave a few seconds to figure out what happened, why he suddenly had 150 pounds of man pressing him into the mattress. "Get the fuck off me."

"Nuh-uh." The malicious gleam in those once familiar green eyes was frightening in it's intensity. Dave tried a taekwondo move to throw Lars off, but he somehow clung on, riding Dave like a bucking bronco.

"Get OFF me!"

_"What do you mean, "I hurt your feelings"? I didn't know you had any feelings."_

All of his bouncing only served to press Lars' weight onto his hard on, the constant jiggling and bumping doing nothing to deflate it. Maddeningly, Lars kept his balance and the smile on his face. "I'm afraid I can't do that Dave," Lars ground his ass against Dave. "Looks like you're enjoying this."

Dave certainly did not enjoy stiff hairs moving over sensitive flesh, nor the delightful warm weight centered on his... "Fuck you," was all he could spit out aiming for venomous and falling short. "Fucking queer."

"That's priceless, coming from the man who five minutes ago had my cock down his throat." Dave sputtered. "Where's your lube?"

Lars had lifted his hips just enough to slide his cock underneath Dave's testicles and push against the small strip of flesh. Dave's eyes went wide as the prodding, his cock pulsing with need. He wasn't going to... Never... Lars was always bottom, he wasn't going to put up with this...

Dave twisted again, trying to throw Lars unsuccessfully. Lars pushed his shoulders into the mattress. "Where is it?" Dave kept his mouth shut, some part of his brain realizing it was probably the only time in his life he'd been able to keep it shut. "Fuck, where is it?" Lars was verging on hysterical and Dave didn't like how mellifluous his moods were. Something of the old drunken James swam in his eyes.

"I hate you." Dave looked quickly to the nightstand, making sure he'd put the supplies in the drawer instead of leaving them out within arms reach.

Lars had the audacity to laugh. "No you don't." He reached for the drawer after following Dave's glance. It was enough of a distraction for Dave to throw his weight and roll Lars back underneath him. "You fucker!" Lars' fists rained down on his shoulders as he kicked with all his might. Dave's bigger frame held him down, the weightlifting muscle much stronger than Lars' thin jogger's muscles.

"MMmmm, I do believe the lube is in the drawer. Shall I get it?" Danish curses, or at least Dave thought they were curses filled the small room. "Or, we could always do this without..." Dave thrust his cock against Lars sharply in warning.

Lars' blinked and scowled, curling his upper lip in not-quite-willing defeat. "Get it."

Dave thrilled at the small victory, wrapping his hand around the small tube and quickly draping himself over Lars. Like this they'd never get anywhere, so Dave pushed up on one arm and managed to get some lube in the palm of the other hand. Reaching between them, he grabbed both of their cocks and slowly stroked them together.

The reaction from Lars was instant. He relaxed and shut his eyes, mouth open in a small sigh. Dave needed more, needed to make things happen before Lars shifted the balance of power again. Sitting up on his knees, Dave kept one hand gently stroking Lars, the other one sliding along the bedsheets and finding the small pucker. The Dane pushed himself against Dave's probing fingers. "Been a long time?" he asked sarcastically.

"Shut up and fock me."

"Hmmm," Dave worked over the twitching muscle. "Remember when we used to do this for fun? All those dirty bathrooms and cold cars, sneaking around so James or Ron wouldn't catch us."

Lars flinched at the mention of James. "Don't..." he trailed off. "Just don't."

"That's all you've got?" Dave all but laughed to himself; Lars with no biting comment, no anger inspiring retort. He must have hit home.

"Hurry. Fock me."

"Patience, droogie," Dave said as he slipped a finger inside the warmth, twisting it slightly.

Lars kicked at him, almost getting a kidney. "No, stop, wait..." He sounded breathless to Dave's ears. At least he was enjoying it. Lars slid up the bed, separating himself from Dave and then turned himself over on all fours. "This way."

Dave kissed his cheek. "Yes, dear." Starting again with the fingers, Lars reached around and grabbed his wrist, pulling at him.

"Now. In me." Dave's finger froze inside Lars as his brain melted. "Focker."

"Are you... I mean, you're not, oh God..."

The Dane had reached around and grabbed Little Dave, pulling him where he wanted. The heat of Lars' flesh burned against Dave's cock as Lars rocked back onto him, the tight muscle slowly consuming Dave. It was all he could do to hold on and not spend himself; it was very likely he'd only get once chance at this. Lars kept moving, the rippling muscle stretching around Dave and pulling him in. They were both trembling, Dave realized, the slow slide of hips underneath him turning jerky on the last few inches. He ran his hands over the small of Lars' back. He knew he wasn't huge but he'd hoped, in a twisted way, that Lars hurt.

"Mother _focker_ ," Lars paused and hung his head, shoulder blades poking up from his back.

"Lars..." Dave didn't quite know what he was going to say, but Lars was shaking so much he had to do something. The little biter was kinda cute with a cock up his ass.

His breathing evened out and a quiet 'shut up' came out in a huff. Lars' shoulders tensed and he pulled himself forward, Dave looking down and watching avidly as he slid from Lars' body. The wind was knocked from him as Lars pushed back again, ramming into him. "Fock!" Lars did it again, clawing at the bedding. "Fock me!" Dave's hands slid against Lars' smooth skin, pushing him forward and urging him back, starting to find a good rhythm. Muscles clenched around him. "Harder!" Growling, desperate, needy Lars... Dave bit his lip to keep from coming, the pain urging him on instead of slowing him down.

"Shit..." Dave felt the sweat trickle down his chest and the newly shorn hair stick to his neck. He had missed this, dammit, missed Lars, the small curses and the familiar tightness.

"Fockin' harder!" Lars pushed back so hard it almost knocked Dave off his knees. Redoubling his efforts, and doing his best to focus on the little dip in Lars' spine, Dave took his pleasure from Lars' body and brought him along for the ride. Lars' thin muscles flexed under his skin, shifting as Dave thrust and withdrew.

The room stank of sex, and Dave had to admit that he felt great. It had all been too easy; Lars hadn't shown the slightest hesitation and seemed to know what he was walking into, desiring it as much as Dave had. That though had him on edge again. Lars wanted him. Lars was in his bed. This was really happening. He grabbed the sweaty skin in front of him, years of imagining and hoping condensed into the here and now, sharp curses and blistering insults paired with impossible tightness and heavenly heat. No amount of fantasy ever felt this amazing.

Dave gave his hips an extra twist. "Fisse!" Lars' arms went out from under him and he pulled a pillow under his face. Dave moaned. The sight Lars made, ass in the air, completely unembarrassed, flushed and wanton. Dave's little fantasy fuck doll. "Touch me."

Lars moved between Dave's hand and cock, demandingly telling Dave how to please him. It was a very different Lars than he remembered from the oddly bashful youth, yet it was still his Lars. A hand closed over Dave's, wrapping around it and urging him to stroke faster. He was sure management would be knocking on the door any time soon from the way Lars was carrying on. Dave looked past Lars, smirking at the way the bed had slid away from the wall with their movements.

The vise-like grip tightened around him as Lars spasmed, throwing his head back in climax. The whole of Dave's world centered on his prick and the muscles milking it. Too soon, Lars collapsed on the bed in a sweaty, sated heap struggling for breath. Dave fell on top of him, his mouth running the length of his shoulders while he ground himself into Lars' rear. He pulled his trapped hand out from under them and pushed down on Lars' shoulder, a knee parting his legs. Dave guided himself in, needing to come.

"Shhhhit... fuck yeah, even after all that you're still tight." Dave put more of his weight on him, grinding his hips down harder.

Lars tensed below him and yelled into the mattress. "Aaaah shhhit, James... stop..."

_As far as Lars is concerned, I have no problem with being the president of the I Hate Lars Club._

The one little syllable derailed his dream. He pushed away from Lars and the destroyed bed, leaning against the armoire. The endorphins drained from his brain leaving him cold and empty as he watched Lars stir on the bed.

"Hvad... What..." Slowly pushing himself up Lars looked around the room, squinting. Fucker must have had his eyes closed the whole time. Dave felt a hole burn through his middle. Lars had played into his game because he was playing his own game over it. Acid bubbled in his stomach as he gathered up Lars' clothes and threw them at him, all of his anger breaking out of the careful walls he'd built around it. A flying shoe broke the bedside lamp.

"Get. Out." Dave clenched his teeth so hard he thought they would crack and started counting to ten.

Gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed, Lars wrenched his shirt between his hands. "I..." he trailed off, looking lost. The pretty boy look used to suck people in left and right, Dave had seen it in action many times.

"Just get out." Dave pinched the bridge of his nose. The anger had left but shame was starting to take it's place. He couldn't believe he'd blindly fallen into Lars' trap. "Go back to your wife."

Slipping a leg into his trousers, he quietly said, "I love Connie." Dave grabbed a t shirt and shorts out of his travel bag while Lars dressed. This certainly wasn't as much fun as kicking a chick out of his room, but then again, he'd never had this sort of past with the girls he frequented. Lars looked pretty dapper for a five am walk home, shoes in hand and jacket slung over his shoulder. Dave hadn't fallen for his 'little boy lost' look, and Lars smirked openly at him. The Dane had to walk past him to get out the door and Dave flattened to the wall as Lars came near. Never one to miss an opportunity, Lars went up on tip toe and briefly kissed Dave's cheek. "Until next time, my love."

Dave pushed him away, causing him to fall back on his heels and stumble towards the door. "Stay the fuck away from me. I'm done with you."

Lars paused halfway out the door and blew him a kiss. "Bonne nuit mon chèri." He smirked before shutting the door behind him. If he had been closer Dave would have had his hands around his neck, choking the life out of the impossible son of a bitch. As it were, his fists landed on the heavy door and he rested his forehead on the fire escape map. Even as he cursed Lars' existence, he heard the quiet swish of stocking feet on carpet heading towards the elevators. The sound faded to nothing in the still quiet hotel and Dave peeled his face from the door.

Management had been harping on him for a year now to get in on this 'Big Four' tour that was being discussed. He almost had half a mind to do it, the money would be good and he was sure his band was better than everyone else being considered but it would be a pain not getting top billing and dealing with all the other morons he couldn't fire when they fucked things up. After tonight though, he would really have to think hard about what to do. Lars was no longer the cute trollop he could play with, now the strumpet had played him a hard one and bared his fangs. It was a mind fuck, and Dave had to a admit a good one at that.

Yes, the tour could be a good thing, Dave reasoned. Dave was the master of mindfucks after all, and the thought of Lars and his precious James together for a European tour with him was temptation too sweet to ignore. Dave grabbed his cellphone from his discarded jeans and found Cowboy's number, dialing despite the fact that the sun was just starting to peek through the curtains. Oh yes, this thing could be fun indeed if he played his cards right.

"Hi, it's Dave. Yeah, sorry. Look, are you booked for summer 2010 yet?"


End file.
